Resurrection
by AussieEllie
Summary: AU/AH - Broken and weary WW1 soldier Edward Masen is rapidly losing everything: his friends, his hope, his sanity. But when he meets the beautiful and kind Isabella Swan while on leave, she may just be the key to resurrecting his broken heart and soul...
1. Prologue: The Drums of War

**T****itle:** Resurrection

**Summary: **The drums of the Great War have finally reached American shores and 21 year old Edward Masen, dreaming of adventure and glory, eagerly answers their siren call. Sent to a foreign land, he's soon caught up in the horror and futility of the Western Front, becoming more closed off with every friend lost, every enemy killed. However, while on leave from the front line he becomes enchanted with the beautiful and kind Isabella Swan, who may just hold the key to resurrecting his broken heart and soul…

**Rating: **M

**Disclaimer: **Twilight and all related places and characters belong to Stephenie Meyer.

**A/N****:** I'm insane. It's the only explanation I can come up with for even considering starting this story while I'm in the midst of another, but this idea seems to have put down roots in my brain and refuses to leave. This is inspired in part by Sebastian Faulks' brilliant novel _Birdsong _and also by my own fascination with the history of World War One. I will be alternating between postings of this and _What Dreams May Come _so you don't have to worry about me abandoning that story for this one. I'm a little nervous since this is different than anything I've written before, but please read, review and enjoy!

* * *

_Prologue: The Drums of War_

* * *

**Chicago, June 5 1918**

Sweat trickled down the small of my back, my usually unruly hair falling limp against my forehead as I shoved my hands deep into my trouser pockets, sleeves rolled up in a way that would make my mother gasp at the informality. The hall was hot and airless, the crush of bodies within making the stifling conditions close to unbearable and yet I was almost bouncing on the balls of my feet with anticipation.

"Next please."

The line ahead of me shuffled forward another foot, enough so I could now see the severe looking young woman sitting behind the ornate desk, her mousy brown hair pulled into a tight bun and her jowls drooping with a bored scowl. She was no Theda Bara, that's for sure. Holding no interest to me, I let my eyes wander around the room to take note that I was not the only twenty-one year old here who had a sense of eagerness in their eyes.

"Edward!"

My eyes jerked back to survey the entrance to the hall, finally alighting on Samuel as he jostled his way through the line to reach me, uncaring of the disgruntled looks shot his way by the other men in line.

"I thought I said to wait for me outside," he grinned, running a hand through his shortly-shorn blonde locks as he came to a stop behind me in the line.

Samuel Harper was one of those people whose presence seemed to fill a room, no matter how large. The son of a rather respected doctor, he possessed a keen intellect, a rather sharp sense of humor and an utter disregard for what others thought of him. Sometimes I wish I possessed his unparalleled sense of self-confidence, but for the moment, the fact that he had been able to see past my rather guarded demeanor to become my closest friend was enough.

"I did," I said quietly, not wanting to draw any more attention to the two of us than his boisterous entrance already had, "An hour ago…where have you been?"

Samuel just grinned and clapped me on the shoulder.

"Sorry Edward, I was…_detained_ by the lovely Miss Holland, I'm sure you understand," he smirked, a familiar mischievous twinkle shining in his eye.

That was something else of Samuel's I was slightly envious of, his apparent ease in dealing with women. On my more confident days I knew that I was handsome; with my father's strong features, my mother's vivid green eyes and a mess of bronze hair that seemed to defy any attempts to tame it, I was not a hideous specimen by any stretch of the imagination. I even had the rather neat talent of being able to read the intention's of others via their eyes and body language, a skill that would no doubt serve me well on my chosen career path. However, none of this seemed to matter when faced with the enigma of a beautiful young woman. I became almost unbearably tongue-tied, resorting to my stand-by aloof demeanor which seemed to deter even the most indomitable of girls. Though, I had to admit that it did not bother me as much as it would others as I had not yet found _her_. The one that I knew in my heart I would know was mine the minute I lay eyes upon her form. My friends called me an unbearably hopeless romantic, but I was raised in an environment where my parents had a happy, loving marriage, where my mother's sister and her husband were the epitome of the 'love at first sight' cliché.

"Miss Holland? I thought it was Miss Taylor," I commented, never able to keep track of Samuel's seemingly never-ending parade of female companions. It was not that he treated them wrongly, he just abided by the philosophy of enjoying being young, rich and handsome while he still could, which included…'sampling' a rather large portion of Chicago's upper-middle class female population under the age of 21.

"Miss Taylor was last week Edward," he said dismissively, checking his pocket watch, "She was a keen girl, but a becoming a bit too attached for my tastes."

"Are you ever going to settle down Samuel?" I asked as the line in front of us shuffled forward again, "There is more to life than..._being detained_."

"You sound like my mother," he shot back with a mock scowl that soon dissolved into a grin, "How about I make you a deal. I'll think about settling down when you finally manage to ensnare some beautiful girl in your grasp."

"Deal," I agreed, holding out my hand so we could shake on it, trying not to think about the ever-growing feeling that I would never find my dream girl.

"Next please!"

The forceful shout made me swing my head abruptly, only to see that the line ahead of me had disappeared in my distraction, the scowling woman now glaring at me for my inattentiveness.

Samuel whistled, "If looks could kill…"

"Shut up," I hissed quietly under my breath, straightening my vest.

Smiling apologetically at the woman, I approached the desk with the ball of anticipation in my stomach returning with a vengeance. She'd lowered her head as I got closer, eyes glued to the desk so I didn't even have the option of turning on my charm, something I could do most effortlessly as long as the person involved wasn't young, beautiful or interesting…and if my mother could've read that thought, she would've smacked me upside the head for my rudeness.

"Full name," she demanded shortly, fountain pen quivering an inch off of the small cream card.

"Edward Anthony Masen," I replied promptly, before adding, "That's Masen with an 'e' not an 'o'."

Her hand tightened around the pen as if she was imagining it was my neck and I shuffled my feet nervously.

"Date of birth?"

"June 20, 1896," I replied automatically, though I knew the year was probably unnecessary given that everyone registering today would be that age.

"Home address?" she continued, pen scratching its dark ink across the form, still not even bothering with the polite courtesy of looking me in the eye when she spoke.

"2243 North Halstead Street, Lincoln Park, Chicago, Illinois," I rattled off, determined not to let her obvious distaste affect me. Of course, at that moment her gaze snapped up and she looked me over appraisingly, a different light entering her eyes as she got a good look at my features. I knew why she'd looked up, that area of Chicago was well-known for its wealthy inhabitants and I got the feeling that I had just been upgraded in her estimation from plain nuisance to rich, handsome, husband-material nuisance.

My suspicion was confirmed as she batted her eyes, her harsh tone lowering to a ridiculously low level.

"Employment status," she practically simpered and I fought the urge to shuffle back from the desk. If I'd known this was the alternative, I wouldn't have wished that she'd looked up at all.

"I'm attending the University of Chicago's School of Law in the fall, but am currently employed as a clerical assistant at Barnham, Hamner and Kiedel," I stated flatly, trying to ignore how the gleam in her eye brightened even further at the mention of one of the most prestigious law firms in the area.

After managing to successfully get through the rest of the required questions and only flinching once at the innuendo she inserted into her appraisal of my physical build, she passed over the card for me to sign, hand brushing unnecessarily long against mine as she handed me the fountain pen.

Scrawling my painstakingly neat signature born of years of practice across the bottom of the card, I passed it back with an unfailingly polite thank you and practically fled the hall, stopping only long enough to tell Samuel that I would meet him outside before escaping into the unseasonably warm Chicago afternoon.

Breathing in the fresh air, I felt a sense of accomplishment wash over me. It was done and if my country needed me, I'd be willing to answer the call, more than willing, if I was honest with myself. I had never ventured farther than 30 miles from the greater Chicago area my entire life and the opportunity to head abroad, to see Europe while helping my countrymen and our allies fight for the freedom of those who could not defend themselves was a siren call. If not for my mother's pleading or my father's insistence that I follow in his footsteps as a lawyer, I would have enlisted for military service a year ago when President Wilson had declared we were entering the war.

"I don't think I've ever seen you run that fast and I was there when you overcame Arthur Caldwell in the mile run at the intercollegiate track meet back in March."

Samuel's amusement-laced tone broke me out of my thoughts, slight puzzlement registering on my features as I absorbed his words.

"Yes well, at that time I did not have an overzealous woman staring at me like I was something to be devoured," I replied wryly as we set off down the street, strides falling into sync.

"True," he laughed before a look of contemplation fell over his features, his voice quieting to a tone of mock melodrama, "So we're registered then, officially at the whim of the United States Government, beholden to their need for fresh meat on the frontline of a war that has no real bearing on our continued existence as a nation."

I just rolled my eyes, nudging him in the side with my elbow as a warning. I knew his cynical statement was merely his dry sense of humor coming to the fore, but with the patriotic fervor that had been stirred with the first movement of soldiers overseas back in April, it was not entirely prudent to speak out so candidly in public, even if it was in jest.

"You shouldn't joke about things like that," I murmured.

"Lighten up Edward," he groaned in response, eyes momentarily sliding to the side as a rather attractive young woman approached our position on the sidewalk.

"I am light," I asserted, biting my lip to hold back a snicker as the woman at the focus of his attentions glared at him, huffing as she rapidly passed us by.

"Sure you are," he agreed sarcastically before abruptly changing topics, "How does your mother feel about all this?"

I groaned, thinking about the teary reception I was sure to receive at home. I had a rather close relationship to my mother, but she worried incessantly about what might happen to me if I was called to war, and ever since it had been announced that all males who had turned 21 in the time since the last official draft registration day must also register, she had become unbearably smothering.

"Let's just say that at home I feel like I'm a ten-year old child, not a twenty-one year adult."

"Ah."

* * *

**Chicago, June 10 1918**

"Edward! Come downstairs, Aunt Esme is here!"

My mother's voice floated up from the ground floor, laced with the hint of sternness I had come to recognize as an unspoken 'and that means now' addendum. Placing a marker in the page of the half-read novel, I rose from my desk and made my way down the wooden staircase.

Aunt Esme and Mother were sitting in the drawing room, head's bowed over a piece of paper held tightly in Esme's hands. Though there was ten years between them, it was immediately obvious to spot their resemblance to one another. Both had caramel hair falling in soft waves to frame heart-shaped faces, though while my mother's eyes were the bright green of my own, Esme's were a soft chocolate brown.

"Hello Aunt Esme, how are you this evening?" I asked politely as I took a seat across from them.

She lifted her eyes from the paper and greeted me with the slightly dimmed smile which I was still unused to seeing.

"Edward," she greeted softly, leaning across to hug me tightly for a few moments, "I'm fine dear, I just received another letter from your uncle today."

"And is he well?" I asked, knowing that she would not have even been able to raise that small smile if he was not.

"Yes, as well as can be expected," she replied sadly, eyes becoming distant.

Uncle Carlisle was one of the best doctors in Chicago, with a reputation that rivaled Samuel's father's. Compassionate to a fault, he had made the decision to volunteer as a field medic for the American Expeditionary Force and had been sent over with the first wave of troops a few months ago. Though I knew my Aunt was proud of him, and would never condemn him for his choice, she was taking their separation hard. They had barely been parted a day since they had met seven years ago, and it was partly because of them and the depth of their relationship that I maintained my belief in finding that one special girl.

"He will be fine Aunt Esme, you know nothing on this earth could keep Uncle Carlisle from returning to you," I assured her, taking one of her hands between my own.

"Thank you Edward, I knew there was a reason you are my favourite nephew."

Mother smiled, wrapping an arm around her sister.

"That's because your only other choice for that title is our brother's ghastly son," she teased gently and I knew she had done so on purpose, in order to turn Esme's attention to another topic.

"Lawrence is not that bad," Aunt Esme defended, always ready to see the best in people, "He's just a little…"

"Rude, selfish and entirely self-serving?" I suggested with a grin, thinking of my flat-faced cousin.

"I was going to say pretentious," she said disapprovingly, though the twinkle in her eye belied her stern tone.

A shuffle of movement in the hall cut into our conversation, my father appearing in the doorway with his leather briefcase secured firmly in one hand.

"Edward," Mother said surprised, rising from her seat to greet Father with a kiss on the cheek, "I thought you weren't arriving home till after seven."

"I finished earlier than expected," he grinned in response, placing the briefcase on the floor before turning to my Aunt, "Esme, you're looking beautiful, as usual."

She blushed slightly, allowing Father to kiss the back of her hand, "Thank you."

"Son," he greeted, clapping a hand onto my shoulder, "I have some briefs for you to check over from Lovell, he has court in the morning and wants another pair of eyes to make sure everything is in order."

I nodded, pushing down the small spike of unhappiness that I would have to work through the night on what was supposed to be one of my days off.

"Let's leave the discussion of work for the moment shall we, I'm sure you must be hungry," Mother interjected.

"As a matter of fact, I'm starving sweetheart," Father replied, leading Mother down the hall into the kitchen.

Two courses later, Father and I were deep in a discussion of the Cub's next game when there was a commotion at the front door, Samuel appearing a moment later in the dining room, eyes shining and panting for breath.

"Samuel, what are you…"

"They called us!" he said breathlessly, accepting the glass of water my mother quickly procured and gulping down a mouthful.

"Pardon?" I asked, my heart starting to pound rapidly. Did he mean…

"The President authorized a larger contingent of troops to be sent over, so there are vacancies at the training camps opening up. Those that registered in the last round of the draft are being called to report for a physical examination tomorrow, with those deemed fit set to leave for Camp Grant the following day. We're going Edward!"

My mouth gaped unseemly, my ears barely registering my mother's pained gasp above the blood pounding through them.

It was happening. I, Edward Anthony Masen Jr, was going to war.


	2. Chapter 1: In The Trenches

**T****itle:** Resurrection

**Summary: **Broken and weary WW1 soldier Edward Masen is rapidly losing everything: his friends, his hope, his sanity. But when he meets the beautiful and kind Isabella Swan while on leave, she may just be the key to resurrecting his broken heart and soul...

**Rating: **M

**Disclaimer: **Twilight and all related places and characters belong to Stephenie Meyer.

**A/N****:** I changed my mind about five times as to where to start this chapter, but in the end I decided to drop you all right into the action! I apologise in advance for the lack of Bella still, but I assure you she'll make her first appearance sooner rather than later. In the meantime, we get to spend some time with the boys…(A quick aside: The song at the beginning is taken from a book of real ballads written and sung in the trenches by American WW1 troops).

* * *

_Chapter 1: In The Trenches_

* * *

**5 miles outside Saint-Miheil, France, September 5 1918**

"_Hi doughboys, it's up! Come and get it! _

_Oh we kick and we howl and we mumble and growl_

_At the stuff that we eat, but somehow_

_We gather in style_

_With a standing broad smile_

_When the splinter-lips bugle for chow."_

"Emmett, quit that god-awful racket! I'd rather hear the whistle of ashcans overhead than listen to another round of you singing," Samuel said exasperatedly, slamming down his hand of cards on the makeshift poker table, the rickety wooden crate sinking another few inches into the mud.

"You're just unhappy that you've lost the last five hands," Emmett shot back with a grin, laying out his full house and scooping up the tin of homemade biscuits sent from home I'd foolishly bet as I looked down at the pathetic pair of sixes in my hand. Samuel wasn't the only one who kept losing, my father would be ashamed at how easily the big Tennessee native had cleared me out. I seemed to have left my vaunted people-reading skills back in Chicago, along with my rapidly dwindling sanity.

"Are the two of you ever gonna stop sniping at one another?" Jasper asked, shaking his head at our friends' usual antics from his position a few feet down the trench. He'd given up playing seven hands ago, preferring to use our few hours of peace to write home to his sweetheart, Miss Alice. Not that I blamed him, he'd shown off a picture of his dark-haired jane with pride only hours after I had first met him and she was the epitome of one of the beautiful young girls that usually made my tongue all twisted.

"Only when one of them is pushing up daisies," I drawled, re-shuffling the well-worn cards, "Of course, knowing these two, they're going to fight each other all the way to those pearly gates."

"Damn straight," Emmett agreed, taking a drag of the half-burnt fag held between muddy fingers as he studied his newly-dealt hand and I knew from the way his shoulders shifted back that this time I was in with a chance to actually win. Quickly studying my own hand, I was delighted to see a pair of aces staring back at me.

"Pearly gates? We're going straight to hell my friends, remember? Straight to bloody hell," Samuel sighed, folding yet again. A part of me wanted to disagree, we were already there.

Days upon days of waiting around to be shot at, or buried by some shell. Meeting a new john then seeing him being blown clear apart an hour later, pieces scattered across the muddy ground, the stench of decay overpowering in its intensity. The soggy biscuits and bull meat for rations; the constant cold, mud and dirt seeping into every pore and the waiting…God, the waiting. Waiting to be relieved, waiting for some action, waiting for death…it had all become a never-ending torment. The promise of peace, of rest, as unattainable as the water which had lapped at Tantalus' feet, always receding as he tried to quench his unending thirst. The young man who'd stood in line that warm summer's day, dreaming of adventure had drowned in his idealism and I was what was left; a broken shell held together by the strength of his friends and the idea of home. So hell? Definitely already there.

"And you'll be heading there a lot sooner if you boys don't get your asses into gear, you're on sentry duty tonight," interjected a stern voice from behind us, shaking me out of my melancholy musings.

As far as commanding officers go, Sergeant Banner wasn't the worst I had dealt with since arriving in France a month ago. He was a little stiff sure, but at least he treated us privates as more than mere cannon fodder…although, he seemed to have the worst sense of timing. This was the fifth time in a week he'd interrupted us while I was on a winning hand and if I didn't know any better, I'd say he was doing it on purpose. Just another torment to add to the list.

"Aw, just one more hand Sarge, I'm on a streak!" Emmett complained, although he had already started packing up, extinguishing his cigarette in the ankle-deep water which was our constant companion.

"Just be glad I didn't assign you to patrol," Banner said amused, before heading off down the narrow trench to check on the rest of the soldiers.

Dusk was beginning to encroach, though it was hard to tell through the thick cover of cloud which had hung over our position the last week. The accompanying rain was both a blessing and a curse. It chilled you to the bone and made sure you had to slug through waist deep mud but at least it helped wash away the lice that seemed to infest every square inch of my uniform. The guys had started calling them arithmetic bugs…because they added to your troubles, subtracted from your pleasures, divided your attention and multiplied like hell. I preferred to think of them as the devil's children, sent to make our despair multiply as they did.

"Ready for another long night keeping an eye on those Jerries?" Jasper smirked, slinging his rifle across his shoulder as he clapped his hand on my shoulder. Across from us, Emmett was having fun holding Samuel's helmet just out of his reach. One of these days, he was going to hold it too high and Samuel would get shot right between the eyes by some waiting Boche as he jumped to grab it.

"Just let me at them," I replied with a false grin, pushing all of my anxiety into the back of my mind. Sentry duty might be boring as hell, but if you were not paying attention, it would be all too easy to miss a German patrol sneaking towards you under the cover of darkness. As Samuel finally retrieved his helmet and we set off for the foremost trench's fire step, I hung at the back of the group, contemplating my friends new and old.

Jasper was at the front, as usual. He seemed to be born for this and had a better grasp of tactics and leadership than most of the brass around these parts. Conversely, he was also one of the most intelligent and gentle souls I had ever had the fortune of meeting. If not for the hours we had spent discussing literature and philosophy, I believe I may have gone quite mad already. Emmett on the other hand, was the joker of the group. He was able to keep a smile on his face constantly and had become the un-official morale booster of the three divisions stationed here. Underneath the laughter though, I knew he was fiercely loyal and protective of his mates and I felt a true kinship with him. Then of course, there was Samuel. I truly didn't know what I'd do without my best friend. We'd stuck together like glue throughout training and as the reality of war, its contradictory monotony and horror, had settled into my bones, only his friendship had kept me going.

"Eddie, keep up will you!" Emmett bellowed, bemused smile firmly in place as he twisted his head around to make sure I caught up to them. I really needed to learn how to think deeply and walk fast at the same time or I'll find myself left behind before long.

"My name is Edward," I repeated for the millionth time since we'd met and he'd lumped me with that dreaded nickname. Of course, it could have been worse…I could have ended up with a nickname like Samuel's 'Harpy'.

"Give it up my friend, you could correct him till you're blue in the face but he'll still call you Eddie," the man in question smirked.

"Listen to your Uncle Harpy, Eddie, he's right," Emmett agreed, earning him a scowl from both of us.

"Don't call me Harpy, you overgrown Johnny Doughboy," Samuel snapped, poking Emmett in the chest.

Deciding to ignore (for my own safety) the inevitable full-blown argument that was brewing, I pushed past Samuel to fall into step with Jasper.

"Heard from home lately?" I asked quietly, knowing that he had indeed received a letter this morning in the weekly mail delivery but not knowing the contents. That was one small mercy I suppose, the semi-regular contact we managed to keep with the real world. Though I found it more depressing than comforting, my letters from home usually long, rambling diatribes from my mother about how much she missed her baby boy.

"Alice wrote to me," he replied softly and I envied the small twinkle that appeared in his eye when he thought of her. Unlike Samuel, Jasper only had room in his heart for one woman, and that had been his Miss Brandon since the first time they had met as children.

"I bet she misses you," I commented, stumbling slightly over some discarded crates littering the ground.

"Not as much as I miss her," he paused, adjusting his rifle strap, "Do you know the first thing I'm going to do when I get home?"

"Sleep for a month?" I teased quietly.

"Asides from that," he grinned before his smile turned wistful, "I'm going to get down on one knee and ask her to marry me."

"Geez, we leave the two of you alone for two minutes and you turn into sappy sentimentalists on us," Emmett interjected, slapping us both on the shoulder. Apparently he and Samuel had gotten tired of arguing.

"For once I have to agree, marriage is for the poor and destitute who do not know any better the joys of the life of a bachelor," Samuel preached, hand held over his heart as we finally neared the sentry position, "You should never let a woman tie you down my friend, all you'll get out of it is rope burns across you dignity…"

"And bank account!" Emmett chimed in.

"Quiet," Jasper hissed without warning, coming to a sudden halt so quick the rest of us almost plowed into his back, "Do you hear that?"

I strained my ears, automatically filtering out the background noise of the rest of the men going about their assigned tasks, the loading of rifles and the banging of helmets. For a moment I registered nothing unusual, then I heard it. The descending whistle which haunted my nightmares, the seemingly innocuous noise that was the herald call of death itself. The sound, the adrenaline-inducing sound, of an incoming Kraut artillery shell.

"Get down!" Jasper shouted and we all dropped to the floor of the trench, flattening ourselves against its edges as the ashcan dropped, exploding mere feet from our position, throwing up a cloud of mud and smoke with shrapnel raining down on our heads. The shockwave threw me back a few feet, my back making heavy contact with the trench floor enough to momentarily knock the wind from my lungs. The noise was deafening, my ears ringing with a strange buzz as I rubbed the dirt from my eyes.

When the air finally cleared, I looked up to see that the trench had crumbled before us, the next section caved in beyond all hope of passing. The timber support struts had splintered, jagged wooden edges sticking out from the mess of mud and rock. If the shell had dropped only a few seconds later, we'd all have been singing our praises to St Peter right now.

"Are you all ok?" I managed to croak out, dragging myself upright. I was relieved to see that all three were moving, albeit a little gingerly from the places they'd been thrown by the force of the blast.

"I think I may have cracked a rib," Emmett groaned, tentatively pushing against his torso with a slight hiss of pain, "Definitely a rib."

"I'm alright," Jasper confirmed, moving to help Emmett upright to take the pressure off his injury.

"Looks like Lady Luck's on our side tonight," Samuel commented shakily, wiping at a small rivulet of blood seeping down his arm where he'd been grazed by a stray piece of shrapnel. I pulled out the still relatively clean handkerchief I kept hidden in my top pocket; tying it neatly around his arm with a silent thanks to Uncle Carlisle's insistence I learn basic first aid skills as a teenager.

"That wasn't luck, that was my man Jasper's brilliant powers of observation," Emmett boasted, still able to keep his humor even after the close call and injury, "The Jerries aren't ever gonna catch us unawares, not with him around."

"Thanks, it's nice to know I'm appreciated," Jasper replied with a slight smile, "And since you just confirmed that I saved your sorry behind, you owe me your rum ration from tomorrow."

"Luck, it was all luck," Emmett quickly backtracked, "Didn't I say it was luck Eddie?"

"Sorry _Emmie_, you're on your own for this one," I smirked, before turning to help Samuel to his feet, heading back the way we came to inform an officer about the collapsed trench.

For all of the innocence the last month had stripped from me, the friendship gained seemed worth it for now. And if all four of us made it through this damn war intact, then maybe, just maybe, my sanity would too.


End file.
